


I Felt a Funeral

by drainspoon



Series: Newt's Life Work aka his Angst Collection [9]
Category: Hermitcraft RPF
Genre: Angst, Background Relationships, Blood and Injury, Gen, Heavy Angst, Hurt No Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Torture, Pain, Ships are (Usually) Not the Main Focus, Stalking, Surgery, Trauma, Violence, Whump, can be read as platonic or romantic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-02
Updated: 2020-11-09
Packaged: 2021-03-08 18:01:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 709
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27350899
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/drainspoon/pseuds/drainspoon
Summary: A collection of Hermitcraft oneshots and drabbles, most of which are whump, hurt/comfort, hurt no comfort, and angst. A lot of these are just used as warmups and theres no set schedule. If you wanna base a oneshot off of one of these or something, go ahead, just tell me.
Relationships: ZombieCleo & Joe Hills, impulseSV & Tango Tek (Video Blogging RPF)
Series: Newt's Life Work aka his Angst Collection [9]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1924231
Kudos: 24





	1. Decked in Decked Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> heed the tags!
> 
> impulse and tango. short oneshot.

“Tango—God, are you okay?”

The fiery burn of claw marks on his stomach sent rocketing rolls of agony through his entire body, muscles twitching and clenching beyond his control. _Stand—up! Stand up!_ Short breaths puffed past his lips as his arms quivered on the weight of him leaning on them. He had to stand, be on his feet. Then, then he'd be alright. _Just get up!_ His ears rung loudly, but he could just barely make out the sound of clothes shuffling.

_No, don't come down here—!_

His body lurched to the right as he swung up a hand, palm out in a wait gesture. “No, I,” his teeth nearly pierced his lip trying to suffocate a groan, a warm and salty liquid bubbling up around a tooth. “I'm okay. G—Give me a sec, bud, I'll be alright!” His voice jumped in pitch as a jolt of pain blitzed through him, and he had to force mock enthusiasm to make it seem alright.

“Tango,” Impulse started, grabbing Tango's raised hand in both of his own and lightly tugging. A myriad of stifled wheezes burst from his hunched companion. He could hear his heart beating in his eardrums. Was it just a trick of Decked Out or could he actually hear it? He didn't know. “Tango, _please_. Let me help you—”

“ _NO_!” He roared, yanking his hand away. His back arched and he almost collapsed onto the ground of the game, releasing a strained string of grunts. Impulse flinched, taking half a step backwards. “No... no... It's fine, you—you can leave me, I'll—I'll catch up in a bit.”

Tango twisted his head to face his partner, contorting his face into a clearly agonized smile. Impulse didn't want to meet his gaze. Because he yelled at him? He wished he could rationalize it. Maybe he just didn't want to see him like this... To know it was all his fault and not be allowed to help him... Did Tango not trust him? 

For half a second, his eyes flickered over to the corpse of the ravager that attacked him. Tango had jumped in the way and then he'd slain it when the dungeon master recoiled back. He'd been riding the high. Turned back to the blaze to laugh and fist bump only to see him crumpled on the floor.

God, he was worried.

So, so worried.


	2. Roadside Surgery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> heed the tags and chapter name!
> 
> joe and cleo. drabble.

It felt... _odd_ , to say the least. Piercing skin, the expectations of a yell and spurt of red prickling at the surface of the mind, only to be presented with neither—Hit with nothing more than a tiny jerk that's hardly out of the norm.

Cleo settled in front of him, perched peacefully on a rock. Joe crouched at her feet, needle and thread gripped between his feet as he tried to line her forearm up with the frayed muscle of her upper arm. Joe made face. “Oh, dear, sweet, ZombieCleo,” he started. She seemed to tune back in and glanced down at him. 

“See, I believe there's a natural order in this world. This order dictates that certain peoples might be more inclined to be able to succeed than others when doin' certain things. Like, for example, a surgeon might have a better chance at succeedin' at performin' surgery than, say, a poet. So—”

“Joe, if you don't want to sew my arm up, just say so.”


	3. Self-Surgery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> heed the tags and the title!
> 
> doc. drabble.

Crack. Snap. Yank. _Pull._

It was painful, but necessary.

Crack. Snap. Yank. _Pull._

Fixing his arm on his own. The sweat dripped down his face, dampening his hair and the collar of his shirt. He should've asked someone else to help him—Even someone to hand him his tools would make this horrid task a thousand times simpler.

Crack. Snap. Yank. _Pull._

“Fuck!” He bit back a yelp as his screwdriver slipped, stabbing his thigh but not piercing his skin. _Ow, ow, ow, ow, ow, fuck!_ Bruise quickly forming, he shook his head and went back to work. Just a bit longer and he'd be good as new! Albeit a bit grimy. 

Crack. Snap. Yank. _Pu—_

The panel tumbled off the side, metal ripping apart and falling onto the grass next to him. He sat, momentarily stunned in dead silence. “....GODD _AMMIT!_ ”


End file.
